


the very thing that runs the blood of your kind.

by aspiringaspie



Category: American Psycho - All Media Types, Black Friday - Team StarKid
Genre: Alcohol, Attempted Murder, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunkenness, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possession, Violence, just. a different paul......, scene is a mix of the film/musical, so uh, well..... here’s another wiggly!paul, y’all know the wiggly!paul au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25289095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringaspie/pseuds/aspiringaspie
Summary: Paul Owen finds something at Evelyn Williams’s Christmas party.(a different kind of wiggly!paul au. this is a crack au idk sksksks,, title taken from the song “made in america” from starkid’s black friday.)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	the very thing that runs the blood of your kind.

**Author's Note:**

> so like. idk what this is. pure crack. PLEASE heed the tags!!

Paul Owen was drunk. No, drunk was an understatement. He was fucking  _ wasted _ . In the elapsed time between his dinner with the man he thought was Marcus Halberstam and arriving at what  _ someone’s _ apartment (he was too out of it to know whose), his word had become a blurred mess of colors and shapes. Marcus had been talking to him at one point as he’d collapsed on the armchair, something about a date rape drug, and he found himself answering questions that he hasn’t even fully registered. Dorsia, the Fisher Account, blah blah  _ blah _ . Huey Lewis’s voice was blasting through the speakers and Paul just couldn’t bring himself to care, dancing along with the upbeat music, stumbling over his feet at one point.

It was when Marcus left the room that Paul remembered: the Tickle-Me-Wiggly. The ugly toy that parents had been going crazy over all  _ year _ , and one that had quite literally caused deaths and riots from Black Friday, over into the holidays. Still, kids loved it, and since he’d found the toy laying around at Evelyn’s party, abandoned behind a few tables, he figured he’d donate it to the homeless, or to kids in need. ‘Tis the season, after all.

Marcus was speaking from the bathroom, projecting his voice, but Paul, in his drugged, disoriented state, paid no attention to him, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out the stuffed animal. The doll had been flattened and a bit roughed up since he’d stored it away, but otherwise, it seemed *fine.* The fake fur was actually...quite soft, and as Paul stared at the green monster, a big, dopey smile spread across his face.

_ “He-llo, Paul~” _

A rather goofy chuckle bubbled up in Paul as it spoke to him. His completely drugged-out mind didn’t seem to find  _ any _ problem in the fact that an inanimate object had addressed him by name.

“Hiya, lil’ buddy,” he slurred, staring into its yellow eyes.

_ “Tickle my belly-well~!” _

And he did, his lopsided grin widening. It laughed, _hiccuped_ , even, and Paul joined in. Where’d Marcus even go?

_ “We’re going to be bestest buddy-wuds~” _

“Suuure we are,” Paul hummed, and were its eyes glowing? He shook his head, thinking that he really  _ really _ must’ve been drunker than he thought. In fact, he couldn’t...move. Why couldn’t he move?

“We’re going to be the bestest, bE̎́͘͡s̸̰ͤ̀͝t̛̫͉̳͈̀est of friendy-wends, for a looooong tim _ e, PaULSY̨̗̬͆͜͟͢-͐ͬW̬̓̏̒̀͢͡Ą͚ͥ͋̈ͧ̀͢͠U̔ͭ̌̀͟͏ _ **_L̵̴̹̮͚̞̚S̸̿ͭ̅ͫ͞Y̯̞͈̾͜~̮̯̉̆͘͜͠͡!̷̡̨̘͍͌͛̂͡!̛̠͜!̷͊ͣ͡!̧̛͓!̲̺̤͓"̈́ͫ̐ͪ̕_ **

It all came rushing at him too fast. Paul tried to scream, but his reflexes were dulled from the alcohol and  _ whatever _ had been slipped into his drink, and suddenly tentacles were curling around his limbs, immobilizing him. They were pulling,  _ pulling _ , and he couldn’t breathe as he was dragged further and further into darkness, into the abyss...

Patrick hadn’t noticed anything was off. Paul has been...unusually quiet since Patrick returned from the bathroom, axe in hand. But Patrick wasn’t complaining. Maybe he’d passed out. Whatever it was, he couldn’t care less. It would make the job much,  _ much _ easier, and as he finished buttoning up his raincoat, he found himself unable to stop imagining Paul Owen’s body hacked to bits. He continued spouting off about Huey Lewis and the News, not caring if Paul heard him.

“...it’s not just about the pleasures of conformity” — he held the axe in both hands, testing the weight of the handle — “and the importance of trends, it’s also a personal statement of the band itself! Hey,  _ Paul _ !”

Lunging forward, Patrick raised the weapon over his head and delivered the finishing blow, the blade ringing through the air and lodging itself into Paul Owen’s skull just as he turned around. Blood and brain matter sprayed Patrick’s face and coat, his eyes closing reflexively. When he opened them again, he froze. What he saw caused him to let go of the axe altogether and stumble backwards, staring in horror at what was before him.

The whites of Paul’s eyes had become a sickly golden color, his eyes a bright blue. Despite the axe in his head, splitting his skull in half, he seemed unaffected. Blood dropped steadily from his eyes. Green goo spurted from the wound in his head.

“Paaa- _ trick. _ ..”

The voice coming from Paul wasn’t his own. Patrick broke out in cold sweat and backed up against the wall, eyes darting around madly for some sort of escape,  _ anything _ . A Tickle-Me-Wiggly, now stained in crimson, had been thrown to the floor, off to the side. His heart pounded in his ears.

“Did you  _ try to kill meee~ _ ?” Paul — not Paul, whatever this **thing** was — grabbed at the handle and  _ yanked _ out the axe. Patrick watched in disgust as Paul’s figure stood, the wound beginning to heal, emerald green slime oozing from the hole as his body repaired itself.

“What the fuck  _ are _ you...?” Patrick gasped and Not-Paul laughed, in a manner that was almost  _ childish _ , his body jerking as he began hiccuping.

“Ohhhh,  _ Patriiiiick _ ...” Paul’s body took a step towards the man who’d tried to kill him not a moment ago, red and green  _ leaking _ from where his brain was exposed, where his skull slowly began to reform. 

The axe was now being held in one of his hands, staining Patrick’s hardwood floor with blood. He was advancing on Patrick, teeth bared in a manic grin. Cornered, Patrick began to plead.

“Jesus,  _ please _ , I’ll do anything—”

“Don’t worry,  _ Patsyyyy _ ~” Paul’s head cocked to the side. “I won’t  _ kill _ you~ You’re going to be my bestest  _ buddy-wud~  _ The first of so,  _ sooooo  _ many~”

Patrick hadn’t the time to react before the butt end of the axe’s handle was slammed into his face, knocking him out cold, his unconscious body slumping forward, collapsing to the floor. Paul — no,  _ Wiggly _ cackled, hands running along his vessel, over every inch, every nook and cranny.

Yes. This one would do very  _ nicely _ .

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh idk ahdhxjd


End file.
